Free Ride

by M. N. Forgy

  I look over my shoulder just now putting two and two together that I was naked and sore between the thighs when I woke up, and Benjamin is still naked. Harley slept with him! She gave in. My eyes widen with realization, confusion rocking my brain. What does this mean?

  My heart flutters in my chest, a dark relenting feeling filling my stomach. If Harley can love, will I still be around?

  “Are you and Harley together?” I can’t help but ask.

  A Cheshire Cat grin plasters across his face.

  “Yeah, and now that she’s mine, I’m going to see to it that she’s taking her meds and gets better. You won’t be running the show at all,” he warns.

  I bite my inner cheek until blood draws. Benjamin and Harley were made for each other, now it’s time for me to find my soulmate… before they kill him.

  Jerking the door open, I saunter out with sadness and longing heavy in my chest. If Harley is coming to terms with her side of love, I may not be around much longer.

  “Get back here, Farrah!” he demands, running out into the hallway naked. He holds his cock, looking at me like he wants to kill me. But he can’t because he’s naked and stuck in the hallway.

  “You don’t get to dictate my life, Benjamin.”

  Walking to class, the warm sun shines down on my bare shoulders causing my dress to stick to my sweaty thighs from the unbearable heat. It’s going to be a hot one today.

  Keeping my head down, I silently wonder if Professor Prescott will be more open with me today. We didn’t leave on the best of terms yesterday. I wonder if he’s even alive.

  “Farrah!”

  My brows furrow from the female voice, did someone just say my name?

  “Harley Vander!” That catches my attention, and I stop where I’m standing.

  Turning I find June, the professor’s wife, trying to catch up to me in the mix of college students. She stands out like a sore thumb amongst college football shirts and beanies, in her white ruffled blouse, black slacks, and black high heels. Her hair is pinned up in an up-do making her look professional, but sultry at the same time. She has it all, no wonder Michael is holding on to her.

  “Yes?” I ask with a smile.

  “Do you have a minute?” She presses her hands together, her face awkward as if she’s afraid I’ll say no. Her face is flawless, not a zit or scar anywhere.

  “For?”

  “I just, I needed to ask you a few things and was hoping—”

  “I’ll be late for class.” I point to professor’s class just over my shoulder. A few more feet and I can smell pencil shavings and permanent marker.

  “It won’t be but a minute, promise?” She smiles politely. Her teeth so white they’re near blinding. Talking to her is growing tension in my shoulders, I mean she’s the wife of the man I was trying to sleep with after all. “Please?” Her begging is beneath her and piques my curiosity.

  Sighing I nod. “Sure.”

  I follow her across the yard to a tall stone building, once inside the air conditioning is on blast and my skin pebbles with goosebumps from the sweat trickling down my calves. My dress feels damp and my hair sticks to my flushed face.

  June looks perfect though, not a drop of sweat on her. I furrow my brows noticing I’m jealous of her.

  Her heels click amongst the marble flooring as we wind down a hallway with abstract paintings on the walls.

  “This way,” she informs, opening the door.

  Stepping inside her office, there’s a desk to the left with a computer and small bonsai tree. A purple chair is sitting across from the desk, and a side table holds a box of sand with a rake. It smells of sandalwood in here too, or is that lavender? Either way, it’s very relaxing.

  “Have a seat,” she gestures to the purple chair.

  “I’ll stand,” I retort nicely. I don’t feel comfortable in here or with her. I doubt anything she has to say will be good.

  There’s a bunch of bookshelves behind the purple chair and I take it upon myself to look at them.

  “I’ll just cut to the chase, then. Are you sleeping with my husband?” she blurts. I smile wolfishly, my fingers tickling the spines of thick doctor books. Nothing I would ever read, I’m more of a horror fan myself.

  “Does that bother you?” I question, it’s a stupid question really. Does that bother you? Of course, it would.

  “Oh, please, honey, if you think you’re the only hussy I’ve had to chase off, then you’re dumber than I thought,” she laughs, and my spine stiffens hearing I’m not special. I knew I wasn’t but to hear her say it… it’s nails on a chalkboard. I turn, glaring at her. “I’m just curious how bad it is this time. Does he have you in an expensive apartment somewhere?” She sizes me up and I feel like I’m suddenly naked in front of her. “I don’t see any expensive rings on your fingers, promising you he’ll leave me, so that’s a plus sign.” Her eyes settle on mine, blue dominating eyes tearing me apart. “It can’t be that serious then, huh?”

  I sit in the chair, my heart beating so fast I feel sick. If the girl in the painted overalls wasn’t a hint that her husband sleeps around, this is.

  “So he does this often?” How can she be with a man that does this over and over to her? The idea I’m just another plaything to him, another notch on his belt if I were to sleep with him hits me in all the wrong places, so how can she be so okay with it? Does she sleep around too?

  Either way, Professor Michael Prescott is a dirtbag. He broke my heart and will pay the price.

  “Yes, and no matter what he says… he’s never left me. For anyone.” She tilts her head to the side, looking at me with sympathy. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me as if I’m beneath her.

  My eyes sting, threatening with tears to rush down my face.

  “I’m so stupid!” I grit through clenched teeth, anger rattles my chest. I fell hook line and sinker for a tool.

  “By the way, I tried to pull up your file in the school database, and there’s nothing on you except a name, Harley Vander. Why is that? And why do you choose to go by Farrah?” She clicks on her computer with a confused look, but I ignore her. All I can think about is that scum bag professor cheating on his wife with tons of college girls. Holding girls up in expensive apartments, giving them fine diamonds with empty promises. Why didn’t he do this for me?

  I’m so upset, so angry I can feel Harley cussing inside my head. There’s no confining her I’m so emotional this time, and to be honest. I don’t want to. I want her to fuck this place up.

  I want her to hurt the professor like he’s done me.

  17

  Harley

  Blinking, a room comes into view, beside me a box of sand with a fork looking tool. My head feels heavy and foggy, the cries of Farrah echoing in my head.

  “Farrah?” My head snaps forward and I see June. My fucking target sitting right in front of me.

  My heart skips a beat and my nails dig into my palm with a sudden rage.

  “I mean, there are no hard feelings. If anything, I should be thanking you for keeping Michael out of my hair.” She giggles and I see what’s going on here. She’s confronting Farrah for her crush on the professor.

  I stand, slowly walking to her. “Stop playing your games. Your husband is an asshole who thinks he can take advantage of young women. That there are no consequences to sticking his dick wherever he wants because he’s not getting ass at home. He’s a manipulative pervert and for you to know about his transgressions and to still be with him, it says a lot about who you are. You’re as bad as him.” I don’t hold back. Her face frowns, brows furrowing in.

  “Careful or you’ll get frown lines,” I taunt, pointing to her face.

  “Farrah.” She clears her throat, her face turning red as I insult her. I’m not saying Farrah was in the right trying to sleep with her man, but bringing Farrah here only to get in her head and hurt her… is not going to fly. No one fucks with Farrah without getting repercussions I will bring.

  “My name is
Harley,” I insist, and her face goes blank with confusion. “Is your dad the governor?” I ask, just to make sure I’m not mistaken who she is.

  “Yes, I’ve told you that, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything we’re speaking of,” she scoffs. She didn’t tell me that, she must have told Farrah that. Next to her computer, I see a pair of sharp scissors and I grab them. She stands with panic in her eyes.

  “Farrah, please.” Her hands come up in a defensive manner. “I know Michael needs help, and bringing you in here to release my problems wasn’t right. I see that now.” She scrambles for an excuse for me to spare her.

  Carefully, I step around her desk and like a snake, I whip out and grab her by the throat. Her skin isn’t as soft as I thought it would be. Too many chemicals and toxic lotions. She cries, and I press the scissors into her neck. One jeer and it will puncture the main artery causing her to bleed out in seconds.

  “Shut up, or I’ll cut you. Do you understand?” I whisper. She rolls her lips onto one another, tears streaming down her smooth cheeks as she nods. “I want you to call your husband and tell him to meet you at the house. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she sobs, snot dripping from her nose as she breathes hard. I breathe in her fear, and it rushes into my soul. The rush of having control is something I’ve sought for far too long.

  Carefully she reaches for the phone on her desk and dials.

  “Can – can you meet me at the house?” her voice trembles with fear, and I like it. Fear is respect in the eye of the club.

  She looks at me and I tap the blade of the scissors on my chin in waiting.

  “I know you’re in a lecture, but it’s … it’s an emergency goddamn it.” She starts to become hysterical, and I shake my head in warning.

  She glances at me again, her makeup starting to run down her face and show her acne scars. I begin to lose my patience and press the scissors to the back of her spine in hopes to hurry this the fuck up.

  “JUST FUCKING DO IT, MICHAEL!” she hollers before hanging up.

  “Good girl,” I whisper. “Now, take me to your car and I swear to God, if you let on anything is going on, I will shove this into your spine. Do you understand?”

  “Why are you doing this? Is it because of the affair?” she cries. “I don’t care, he’s just a front. I don’t love him—”

  I laugh. “Affair? Oh, no no no. This is because your greedy father owes my club money and until I figure out what I’m going to do about it. You and your shithead husband are mine.”

  She hangs her head. “Shit,” she mutters in knowing.

  “Ah, so you know Daddy is a dirty fucker?”

  She responds with an angry glare.

  “Where are you parked?”

  “In the garage today, I didn’t want the sun to fade the paint on the car.” She goes into detail, and I could really care fucking less about her expensive ass car. I just need a getaway driver and she’s it.

  “Go,” I push the blade into her back and she hisses, but walks forward. Keeping my arm close to her back I follow her out of her office, and up a flight of stairs to an elevator.

  “You know, we can talk about this,” she says over her shoulder as we wait.

  “I’m more of a doer, not a talker,” I reply calmly. “Does the professor have a way home?”

  “He- he drove in today,” she informs. Perfect.

  The elevator doors open and we step inside, the sound of classical music playing. I hate this kind of music, it puts me to sleep. The scene is ironic really. Pretty rich girl with tears streaming down her cheeks, makeup melting down her face, and here I am standing behind her in a sweaty dress with a pair of sharp scissors pressed into her back while soothing music plays in the elevator.

  The doors open and she walks out on shaky legs. Her heels clicking on the concrete until we reach a black Range Rover.

  Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her keys and unlocks it with a trembling hand. I slide into the back seat as she gets behind the wheel.

  “It’s not too late, we can—”

  “DRIVE!” I press the scissors inside of her ear.

  She cries out and fumbles with the keys to start the car. I can’t help but smile. The fucking rush of having someone else’s life in your hands is a high like no other.

  If this is what the club does on a daily basis, I could easily get used to it.

  18

  Benji

  Looking out the window of the dorm room, I begin to worry. I shouldn’t have let Farrah walk out of here. I should have stomped down the hall and pulled her back in this fucking room. Demanded she get her shit and leave. It’s been hours since she left, and I’m starting to worry. If the Governor finds out what she’s up to, he’ll have her snatched. We should have never did business with that crooked fucker. Grabbing my phone, I try to dial her, but it goes to voicemail. Shit!

  Sliding on my jeans and shirt, I grab my gun and slide it into my waistband. The hair on my neck stands on it as a cold chill rushes through the hot room. Something bad is going to happen tonight, I can feel it.

  Whatever Harley had going on here. It’s done. We’re heading home.

  Heading to the corner of her room I grab her leather bag, and a gun falls to the floor.

  “What the fuck?” I crouch down, inspecting it.

  On the side, the skull of the club is sketched in. It’s one of the patched in brothers. Where the hell did she get this from.

  Palming the gun, I remember my dad passing out drunk a few years back and his gun went missing. He got a lot of prospect shit for losing that and had to pay for a new one.

  I shake my head, tossing the gun back into her leather bag. She’s going to turn this campus upside down.

  I need to find Harley and now.

  Stepping outside I head to the building of the professor and see a note stuck to the door saying class was canceled. I furrow my brows. Where the fuck is Farrah then?

  A young kid walks out of the doors with the note on it. Holding my hand out, I stop him.

  “Hey, where’s the teacher at?”

  “Some emergency, he just went home.” The boy looks me up and down, fear striking in his eyes of who the fuck I am, and I release him.

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

  If Farrah has him, they’re fucking and he’s a dead man.

  If Harley has him, he’s still a dead man.

  Either way, he’s dead.

  19

  Harley

  June drives out of the college parking lot and sobs the whole time. Her stereo playing a CD of how to cope with not loving your spouse. This couple has major problems.

  “Jesus, turn that shit off.” I wave the scissors towards the stereo. Her fingers stab at the dash until the sound of the woman’s clinical voice cuts off.

  Riding in silence I can’t help but wonder why she’s with the professor if she’s so unhappy. Why not let him run off with Farrah or one of the other school girls?

  “Why do you stay with him?” I can’t help but ask.

  Her shoulders rise as she inhales a shaky breath.

  “It’s a long story,” she murmurs under her breath.

  “I like long stories,” I lie. I’m more intrigued by other humans and the stupid things they do.

  She takes a left, the car hitting a pothole causing the scissors to press into her head a little harder than I intend.

  She hisses grabbing at her hurt ear.

  “Shit sorry,” I mutter, and I pull them back.

  “He was the cute new guy at the college, and I had just started volunteering there. We hooked up in the library one night after classes were over, and six weeks later I found out I was pregnant.”

  She looks in the rearview mirror, her eyes holding more sadness in them than I’ve seen before. Now I just feel sad for her.

  “My dad demanded he marry me as he didn’t want our family name to be mocked as he ran for governor.”

  “Dads can be controlling,”
I speak from experience.

  “You have no idea,” she scoffs.

  “Story for another time,” I clip, resting in the back seat comfortably. This car is nice, nicer than anything I’ve been in before. I slide my hand along the smooth leather wondering if I’ll ever have a car like it. A baby to sit in the back seat. If I’ll play house with Benji.

  “So, you got knocked up and married an asshole?” I look back at her, wondering if her story is over.

  “I lost the baby and am stuck with the asshole. Michael knows too much of what my father does for my dad to let him walk away.” She shakes her head, and the ride to her house falls silent.

  It’d be easy for me to tell her what I would do, but I know what it’s like living a life of crime and secrets.

  You have no life. Your life becomes the sin and secrets, they run the river of darkness around your little happiness.

  June drives her Range Rover into the garage of her house and places it in park. Looking out the tinted back seat window it looks as if she just moved in. There’s no tools on the wall, a workbench or anything of lawn maintenance. The garage is clean, not even a grease stain on the floor.

  “Did you just move here?” I can’t help but ask.

  “No, I just… I don’t like clutter,” she replies with a raspy voice, her silky hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. Oh, I bet she’s a peach to live with. If she saw my room at the club, she’d pass out.

  “Hmm,” I smile. “Get out.” I tap her head with the scissors and she whimpers before fumbling with the door handle. She scares easily, I like it.

  Getting out, she stands there looking at me as if she’s lost. Like a kid dropped off at daycare for the very first time.

  “Well, let’s go inside?” I prompt her with irritation laced in my voice.

  She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and heads to a white door on the left. Stepping inside the house we walk into an immaculate kitchen. The hardwood floors are clean without so much as a single scratch marking them, and the marble counters are clear of any cooking utensils or food. She must have some OCD or something as I’ve never seen a place so clean. Then again, I live with a bunch of bikers.